


Cheap and Nasty

by TheFierceBeast



Series: Sweet and Nasty [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Blow Jobs, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Drunk Jim, Embarrassment Kink, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Gordlock - Freeform, Gotham is for lovers, Harvey talks dirty, Humiliation kink, Jim Gordon in a French Maid Outfit, Jim Gordon's terrible life decisions, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Harvey, Rimming, Thumb-sucking, Wet & Messy, clumsy seduction, dutch courage, french maid, that escalated quickly, you know you want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: “Cheap and nasty?” Jim’s voice sounds choked. He wants to be. Just for tonight. To be filthy, even if he’s ashamed of how badly he wants it. Especially when he's ashamed of it.Guys, this is just porn (with feelings). Sorry, not sorry. For Feurio - not the fic I originally started writing for you, but I hope it will do for now.The artwork included in this is by the incredibly talented deathbyOTPin123 - please check out their gorgeous artwork: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897591/chapters/42250586 :D





	Cheap and Nasty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feurio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feurio/gifts).



At the sound of a key in the door. Jim stumbles from the kitchen, clinging to the wall to both steady himself and hide a little as he realises, very belatedly, that there’s the tiniest fraction of a possibility that it might not be Harvey returning home. And some things in this city are even worse than the ever-present, too-real possibility of being gunned down in your significant other’s apartment.  
It’s Harvey, though, of course it is, locking the door behind him and tossing his keys onto the side table, his hat after them. Jim sidles out from behind the breakfast bar that separates kitchen and lounge, waiting expectantly for Harvey to turn and see him, his belly crawling with nervous anticipation.

He isn't waiting long.

 

“Holy-” Harvey actually jumps, hand going to his chest and outright shock colouring his features, which is a reasonable reaction, considering Jim hadn’t let him know he was dropping by, but then Harvey’s expression falls and the sudden wash of anxiety is almost sobering. Jim tries for a tentative little smile. And Harvey says, voice tight and urgent, “Jim?” and Jim realises with a jolt that he’s reaching for his gun.

_Good evening monsieur. I’m here to warm up your bed._ The rehearsed line rings in Jim’s head, suitably arch and playful and self-aware but he always suspected he wouldn’t be able to say it, and now it’s definitely not going to come out because Harvey’s eyes are wild, glancing desperately around the apartment. And _of course_ he’s looking for whoever’s got a gun trained on Jim’s head. _Of course_ he’s trying to work out who drugged him, or brainwashed him, or planted his weirdly-attired assassin clone in Harvey’s apartment, and why didn’t Jim consider this? It’s all so ludicrous, but so commonplace in this disaster of a city, and what had he been _thinking_?

“I…” Jim tries to speak, but it won’t come out, nothing but a terrified stammer, because really, how do you explain away letting yourself into your partner’s place, downing two bottles of Rioja and dressing up in a lamentably uncomfortable and ill-fitting French Maid costume that got delivered just this morning in plain brown packaging? It might rank lower than murder, but it’s still got to be up there at the top of James Gordon's long, long list of terrible life decisions and now that familiar prickle of shame is starting up, to compliment the scratch of cheap net petticoat against the backs of his bare thighs and Jim can feel his throat starting to close up, his cheeks starting to burn…

“Jim? Are you OK? Are you alone?” An urgent whisper.

“ _Yes_ I’m alone!” he manages to choke out, indignant in spite of his awkwardness. Harvey doesn’t look convinced. His hands holding his gun that he has trained on Jim are shaking more than Jim has ever noticed before.

“Did someone… has someone…” _What_? Jim bites his lip, shakes his head, snatching for breath. Smooths the front of the frilly little skirt down in a fruitless attempt to try and conceal a bit more, but it still barely skims the tops of his stockings. “Did they drug you?” Harvey manages.

Jim shakes his head, shushing him sincerely. “No…” He holds his hands up in what he hopes is a placating manner, and takes a wobbly step forward. "This isn't how it looks."

Harvey’s brow creases into a dawning frown. “Are you… drunk?”

“Uh… uh-huh.” _Crap. This is exactly how it looks._ Jim nods, flashes him an uncertain grin. “I really, really am.”

Harvey’s mouth drops open. He finally lowers his gun. “What the Hell?”

Jim smiles, sheepishly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well.” Harvey looks him, up and down, and his eyes look about to bug out of his skull. “Mission accomplished.”

Jim clears his throat. Squints up at Harvey, hopefully. “Too much?” There’s no way to get through this except brazening it out, except that he feels anything but brave. Hot and cold all at once. Warm from the wine, and the hot wash of embarrassment that’s threatening to overwhelm him; thrills of cold chill zipping down his spine at being so vulnerable. Open to Harvey’s judgement and mockery and teasing and _what is wrong with you, Gordon? That should not be a turn-on_ … He sucks in a shaky breath and pushes the skirt of his dress down again, feeling far too exposed, as if Harvey can just sense how hard he is under all those tacky ruffles.

Harvey just shakes his head. “You are insane, you know that? Certifiable. You should be back in Arkham and I ain’t talking about employment options.” And then he’s breaking into a smile, his chuckle building into a laugh, half relief and half incredulity.

 

It’s an… _interesting_ feeling, being laughed at whilst he’s dressed like this. The tone of it is fond, and Jim knows that Harvey doesn’t mean it cruelly – no more than his usual teasing and banter – but it still makes Jim’s toes curl against the cold floor. Makes him instinctively want to defend himself, torn between objecting and running. It feels like a strange shift in power between them, and he doesn't entirely hate it...

"I thought it would be your thing,” Jim says. He tries to make it come out suave, knowing, but as usual it just sounds petulant. A little sulky. Harvey eyes him, keenly, and Jim feels _naked_.

“My ‘thing’? You wanna explain yourself a bit more clearly there, pal?”

“I… No, I mean…” Why, why did you think this was a good idea? They’ve been together, in whatever this is, for months now, and it’s been great. The sex is great. But both of their reputations precede them and Jim is only too aware of how much more colourful Harvey’s is. Going from God-knows-what with a voluptuous hooker on each arm every night, to frantic, lights-off hand-jobs with the most notoriously uptight male detective on the force… he self-consciously pats his already-neat hair into place. “This was a mistake. I’m going to go change.”

 “Don’t you dare.” The hand on his arm is gentle, but firm.

“Harvey..?”

“I want a drink.” Harvey's tone says he needs one. The way he licks his lips makes Jim’s hard-on pulse in the uncomfortable confines of the underwear he’s suffering. “And I’m gonna make you some coffee. I think we need to meet in the middle here, buddy.”

“I’m fine,” Jim protests, the booze quite clearly talking, but Harvey is already in the kitchenette, clattering crockery.

 

They eye each other over the breakfast bar. Harvey seems as suddenly shy of him as Jim feels, except his glances have a heated, predatory quality that has the back of Jim’s neck feeling hot and tingly. When Harvey passes him a cup of espresso, his fingers brush his wrist when they withdraw and all of the hairs shiver up on the back of Jim’s bare arm. Jim ducks his head, clears his throat.

“Where’d you get it?” Harvey’s voice sounds thick.

Fiddling with his plunging neckline, trying to pull it higher up, whilst he tries to pull the skirt further down, Jim squirms on the bar stool. His toes clench around the stool rail. He'd forgone buying shoes - springing for size ten stilettos seemed too much of an extravagance for a joke outfit - but now he's too aware of his height, of his nearly-bare feet, and he's regretting skimping. “Mail order. A magazine.”

“Oh yeah?” Raised eyebrows.

“One of _your_ magazines.”

Harvey chuckles. “ _Why’d_ you get it?”

“Don’t you like it? If it’s making you uncomfortable I’ll go change…”

“I’m not the one who looks uncomfortable,” Harvey says, strolling around to stand too close. He’s still staring, a look of desire and adoration that has Jim looking away again, flustered and diffident. Harvey downs his glass of wine, smoothly. Refills it from the bottle clutched in his other hand.

Jim watches him. Tries to even out his breathing. To forget what he's wearing, the insistent throb of his cock. “Does wine even touch you anymore?”

“Mmm. It’s basically fruit juice.” Harvey leans in a little closer. His breath stirs warm and sweet against Jim's cheek. “Don’t change the subject. Why’d you do this?”

Jim’s insides squirm. It’s excruciating, this whole situation, and yet he’s still so distractingly hard beneath his tarty little skirt that he’s having trouble keeping his hips still. “I told you already… I thought you’d like it. You have a certain reputation, you know.”

“Ha. Do I now?”

“You damn well cultivate it!”

Harvey leans in. Drops a kiss to the top of Jim’s hair, and Jim’s heart squeezes in spite of his discomfort. It's unfair. It's unfair how Harvey can do this to him; how he can have the upper hand now, when Jim has put so much effort into catching him off-guard. “You got me. I do. And I do. Like it, I mean." He puts his empty glass down, but keeps the wine bottle, fingers of his free hand twining with Jim’s as he leads him over to the beat-up leather couch. “I like it a lot. You look built for sin, you know that? I mean – when you’re wearin’ a suit you make me want you every time I so much as goddamn glance your way. But this…” Jim bounces on the couch cushions as Harvey pushes him down. Runs fingertips up the length of one stocking-ed calf and Jim arches, shivering, just that light touch going straight to his crotch. “Top-shelf stuff, kid. Wilder than even my wildest dreams. It’s…” Harvey tweaks the frothy synthetic lace of the skirt’s hem. His tone is amused, but his gaze is very focused, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips.

“Cheap and nasty?” Jim’s voice sounds choked. He wants to be. Just for tonight. To be filthy, even if he’s ashamed of how badly he wants it. _Especially_ when he's ashamed of it.

“Just like me?” Harvey’s smile is lopsided, but it definitely reaches his eyes, all hazy with that special look Jim’s only ever seen directed at him. That worshipful longing. _Protect and serve_.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

"Sweetheart, you can have me any which way you like."

 

When he kisses Jim, it's always incredible. Harvey's the kind of guy who throws himself into it body and soul and this time is no exception, except it's different somehow. Even more intense. Maybe it's the frock, or the way Jim feels wearing it, but Harvey feels bigger tonight, more demanding, crowding Jim back against the couch cushions, gathering him up into his arms until Jim is moaning against Harvey's mouth as Harvey circles fingers around one of Jim's ankles, Jim all but cradled in his lap.

"Damn, you're gorgeous. How did I land up with someone so gorgeous?"

"Tolerance," Jim gasps without really engaging his brain and Harvey laughs breathlessly and kisses his neck. Evidently decides from the noise that Jim makes that he's onto a winner and keeps going, working his way down Jim's throat, fingers drifting beneath his lace-edged neckline and all Jim can do is cling to him and try to breathe. 

  

It really is a terribly revealing outfit. Even more so on a man who's bigger and more broad shouldered than is probably intended for this little scrap of fabric. It's covering nothing. Jim groans as he feels teeth, feels Harvey tugging down one little puffed sleeve so it slips off his shoulder. Harvey plants another kiss there, where the muscle flexes. The front of the dress laces up with ribbon that's already coming undone, gaping obscenely. "This is a bad girl get-up." Harvey observes, his voice low and conspiratorial in a way that makes Jim shiver. When he traces one stiff nipple through the thin satin Jim has to bite his lip to contain a cry. "So any guy wearing it's gotta be a very, very bad boy indeed."

Jim's chest heaves when Harvey slips one hand inside the front of the dress, tugging until it pulls open completely, exposing him between unlaced ribbons. And it's stupid, ridiculous - he's been shirtless in front of complete strangers more times than he can remember and never given it a second thought, and yet this feels... God, he can't explain it. Can't get his head around it, even. Just clenches his fingers against the urge to try to cover himself with his hands.

"Hot little piece, ain't you?" Harvey croons in his ear and it's all Jim can do to manage a broken, shaky,

"God, Harv..." Before Harvey's other hand is slipping beneath his skirt and then it's Harvey's turn to groan.

 

Jim shuts his eyes, just for a moment, at the sound. Swallows thickly as Harvey drags the back of his fingers along the hot hard length of Jim's cock, trapped in satin he's long since soaked through in overeager excitement.

"Jesus, Gordon, I gotta see this. Let me look at you..."

That delicious stab of mortification twined with lust pierces him again as Harvey grabs handfuls of skirt and pitches it up around Jim's hips, baring him to the waist. "Oh, sweet mother of mercy, you are gonna be the death of me, baby."

And he's squirming, he can't hold it in, trying not to glance down at his own body, unfamiliar in garters and sheer black stockings, a pair of black g-string panties doing a completely inadequate job of containing his straining hard-on. "I have to, Jim, I have to."

"Harvey!" His gasp is shattered into pieces as Harvey gets his mouth on him. Sucks at the head of his dick through wet satin, working his lips down the length of him to nose at his balls. "Please... Oh, God, Harvey..."

"Let me..." Harvey says again, as if Jim is ever going to refuse him.

His hands feel big, strong, as he cups Jim's thighs, spreading him wide and then lifting him, shunting him roughly down to the edge of the couch. And Jim's pulse kicks up even further at being manhandled. Positioned. Harvey knelt between his legs, kissing him there like it's an act of devotion. "Put the skirt back down?"

"I want to see you..." Jim protests, but Harvey's eyes are round and beseeching as he says,

"Please?" And he sounds so breathless and desperate that Jim can't refuse him that, either. Flips the cloud of cheap net and staticky, synthetic satin down over his head, and then Jim's eyelashes are fluttering with the sheer intensity of pleasure.

"Oh-Harvey-God!"

He can't see a thing, but can feel it all exquisitely: Harvey pulls Jim's panties down just enough to free his cock, and then Jim is engulfed in warm, wet pressure, down to the base of him. The ruffles of his skirt ripple as Harvey bobs his head, sets a pace, tight and merciless and expert. 

The thought of how practised he must be at this isn't helping one bit. Because Jim's far from innocent, has been with plenty of women and watched his fair share of porn, but his experience with men is distinctly lacking. And Harvey makes him feel like a blushing virgin again, awkward and embarrassingly overeager.

"Harvey..." He's all but panting his name. Harvey's answer is muffled, hot breath against Jim's thighs.

"Harder. Hold me down. Wanna drown in you." His hands seek Jim's, pull them to the back of his head, and Jim's fingers tangle desperately in a mess of net and Harvey's long, red hair. Harvey groans luxuriously: the sound shakes Jim right through. Harvey's voice is ruined. Shot with desire. When he hooks a finger into damp satin, tugs Jim's panties to the side and spreads him with both thumbs, Jim feels the words vibrate against his asshole. "That's it baby. Sit on my face."

"Harvey..." His vocabulary's reduced to his name, repeated over and over as he tugs on Harvey's hair, pulls him close. The contrast between the acid scratch of net and the softer brush of Harvey’s beard against his inner thighs has him panting and oversensitive, his skin buzzing. It's overwhelming. Humiliating to feel this unmoored, to not be in control, and yet it's strangely liberating too. Because it's Harvey, and Jim trusts him with much more than just his life. And Harvey is worshipping him with his mouth, winding him tighter and tighter, closer and closer to peaking, but never quite enough. That tongue, determined and wet, lashing him over and over, licking into him, until Jim's breath sounds more like sobbing and he's grinding mindlessly against Harvey's face and Harvey's muffled, ecstatic groans are so hot it's almost impossible to take and there's that heady, steady pressure against his taint and he's so close, so very close and then he's there, mouth open and gasping, wordless and wild with surprise as his cock jerks and spurts and the pleasure rattles through him and he’s never come like this before. Never before. Never.

"Fuck, Jim."

"Oh, God." He can barely move. He can barely see. His entire body feels overtaken by his hammering heartbeat, limp and drained and shocked.

 

Harvey emerges from beneath his skirt, flips it up around Jim's waist. Sits back on his heels, flushed and bright eyed and grinning and Jim really, really wants to kiss him right now, but Harvey says, "No... Don't you move a muscle there, sweet cheeks."

Jim bites his lip, face flaming. Writhes on the couch as he watches Harvey watch him. Watches Harvey, still kneeling before him, tug open his belt, drop his pants and shorts and moan in relief as he gets his dick out and starts jerking himself fast and urgent.

It’s becoming an effort to hold this position now. Now he's coming down from the giddy high of orgasm, Jim's thighs are starting to tremble and ache from the effort of being held spread so wide for so long. He feels sensitive all over: net scratches and beard burn. Exposed too intimately, wet and raw, spread out and under scrutiny and unable to cover himself, so he wants to cover his face instead but he can't bear to not be able to see Harvey's expression of absolute adulation as he jerks himself with one hand, the other still holding Jim's panties pulled aside and oh god, Jim can feel his own dick trying to get hard again. This position is torture. Too suggestive. They've not... done _that_ , not yet, they haven't _fucked_ \- and here Jim is, laid out like some kind of debauched offering. Wide open. _Displayed_. Harvey between his legs, touching himself like that, and _fuck_ , Jim wants it, suddenly he wants nothing more. That big, fat cock, pushing inside him, _claiming_ him. He settles for clamping the knuckle of one thumb between his teeth to shut himself up, to stop any whimpering or begging that might escape, but it's all too much, too intense and too exposed and then he's sucking on his thumb and Harvey is gasping out something inarticulate like, "God, baby, what are you doing to me?" and then he's spurting like a fountain, warm ribbons of it landing heavy and wet between Jim's legs, making Jim's spent dick twitch needily.

 

“ _Damn_.” Harvey's panting like he just ran a marathon, eyes glazed and misty. "That was just about the hottest damn thing I've ever seen in my life." He wipes his mouth on his shirt cuff, but as soon as he glances over, catches Jim’s eye again, he’s moving fast, hand behind Jim’s neck to haul him in for another deep, searching kiss. 

Jim groans in relief and discomfort as he finally lowers his legs. Frowns at the scratch of those damn petticoats.

Harvey nods at the mess. "I hope you can boil wash that.”

Jim gives a breathless little chuckle. “I think if I tried it might melt.”

“I’ll take it to the Chinese laundry if you like.”

“I bet you will. You got a tab going with them?"

"Hardy ha. For your information-" Harvey's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Yeah, you got me, I do."

Jim smiles back, and punches him in the arm. His heart feels airy. Like it's filled with light. 

"But next time, I get to wear the frilly stuff, OK?”

“I don’t think this’ll fit you.” Jim says, dreamily. He wraps his hand around Harvey’s bicep: it barely gets halfway. When Harvey lifts his arm, offers wordlessly, Jim swallows what's left of his misplaced pride and settles against him. Lets himself be held and feels the dreamy distant buzz of Harvey's voice against his hair.

“You’ll just have to buy me something special then, won’t you? And none of this nylon garbage, neither. I’m a classy broad.”

“You’re serious?”

“You see me laughing?”

“Oh God, you’re serious.” He can't decide if it's an appealing thought or not, but it's an instantly compelling one.

“I don’t see you laughing, either…” Harvey raises his eyebrows suggestively. Leans down to kiss the tip of Jim's nose.

"I think you're rubbing off on me."

"At every opportunity, soldier."

_What on earth do I see in you?_ Jim's laugh answers his own question. At some point over the past half hour, what he's wearing, how he looks, how he behaves, apparently ceased to matter. So he cuddles closer and feels Harvey's contented exhale against him and thinks of... nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reads my smutty ramblings (especially the commenters and the discussers!) and thank you to these fictional men and all those who write them, for getting me through some tough times x


End file.
